


Feathers, Now Embers

by Starthewolf1106



Series: Mockingbird On Fire [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starthewolf1106/pseuds/Starthewolf1106
Summary: A sequel to Close Your Eyes And Murder A Mockingbird in which Anakin flees to Tatooine only to find his mother gone.Updated on August 27th, 2020 to have only one chapter. I also changed the title from ‘Bloodied Feathers Fall To The Floor’ to ‘Feathers, Now Embers’
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker/Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Mockingbird On Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892443
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Feathers, Now Embers

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a filler story leading up to the next part in the series, so stay tuned. The song is 'Holocaust' by Big Star

_Your eyes are almost dead_  
_Can't get out of bed_  
_And you can't sleep_

* * *

Anakin awoke before the suns did, as he always did. It had been two years since he fled the Jedi Order, since he had been so brutally betrayed by his closest friend and mentor. 

Some days were easier than others. Some days, he slept through the night and awoke with only the faintest memory of a nightmare, the only evidence of his trauma being his scars and the cold sweat that dampened his sheets. On other days, he woke halfway through the night with a scream and a sob. On those days he didn't get out of bed, only lay there silently, not daring to fall back asleep in fear of reliving that night over and over again. On some nights, he couldn't fall asleep at all, and would instead sit and sob in the corner, jumping at every noise and threatening shadows with a knife. He would scream at ghosts to leave him alone and run from people who were no longer there. 

Today, he found the energy to push himself off of the dingy mattress he claimed as his own. 

He had managed to find a job as a mechanic that paid decently and was close to the small hotel room he called his own. It didn't matter much to him that it was dirty and run down, or that the locals whispered to each other about him behind his back. Here, Kenobi and the others couldn't find him. Here, he was safe from the monsters that haunted him behind his eyes. 

For now, at least.

* * *

_You're sitting down to dress_  
_And you're a mess_  
_You look in the mirror_  
_You look in your eyes_  
_Say you realize_

* * *

He donned his gear, expertly dressing himself despite his missing fingers. As always, he ignored the words carved into his body and tried not to stare at his prosthetic arm as he pulled a glove over it, the result of an infection spreading from when Kenobi had cut off his fingers. That was Kenobi's final gift to him, one last cruel reminder that he would never be the same. He stared into the small mirror that he had thrown a cloth over in a desperate attempt to hide from himself. Sometime during the night, the cloth had fallen, revealing the cursed silver surface. He stared at his reflection, not recognizing the person staring back at him. 

His mutilated face taunted him, reminding him of all that he had lost. His remaining eye was empty and dull, its partner long gone and in its place an empty socket. A horrid scar almost ran through his other eye, just barely missing it. Carefully, as to not trigger the phantom pain that so often terrorized him, he pulled a mask over half of his face, leaving only his right eye exposed. This way, at least, his most obvious scar was hidden. 

Feeling numb, he shoved his hands into his pockets and left for work.

* * *

_Everybody goes, l_ _eaving those who fall behind_  
_Everybody goes a_ _s far as they can,_  
_They don't just care._  
_They stood on the stairs_  
_Laughing at your errors_

* * *

It haunted him wherever he went. The uncertain, lingering stares of strangers, the muttering that followed him through the streets, the way people shuffled out of his way as if he were a mangy, rabid dog. He learned to ignore it, just as he learned to ignore the phantom pains, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. He saw the way people looked at him, the trepidation in their eyes. He saw their eyes linger over his prosthetic arm and his other scars before snapping away, pretending to not have seen anything. 

At first, he snarled at anyone who stared too long, snapped at anyone who got too close. He flinched away from touch and avoided talking to others. Now, he simply kept his eyes downcast and his head low, though he still didn't talk to anyone.

He worked alone, and everyone knew that. He was the best mechanic in town, and people respected him from a distance. Nobody asked where he came from or what happened to him, though he certainly felt their curiosity, and he was grateful for that. 

He worked from dawn to dusk, only stopping to force a ration bar down his throat. The food he once found delicious was now bland and gritty, the once-tantalizing scents now nauseating. The colors that used to be so vibrant and beautiful were washed away and dull. 

He didn't trust anyone. How could he, when his best friend, his brother had done _that_ to him? How could he ever find warmth in another when that was what got him into this situation in the first place? How could he trust again when that trust had been used in such a horrid way?

The days blended together as he worked tirelessly, with no real goal in mind. Occasionally his boss would approach him and suggest a break, to which he would always refuse. Mechanics was the only thing he found comfort in, the only thing that kept him going throughout the years. He knew that if he were to stop, his thoughts would flood back in, bringing with them their agony and heartbreak. He was like a shark in that way; it was keep moving or be ruined. 

His boss knew better than to push. Anakin had carved out a niche for himself, making himself indispensable. It was his obsessive behavior that pulled in such a fortune for the shop, anyway, to the point of new investments coming in from all over the planet. He kept doing what he was doing on the promise that his boss wouldn't reveal his identity, not that they knew who he was, or who he used to be, anyway. His boss asked no questions, only accepted the offer. It was win-win, for him. He was getting rich and he didn't have to worry about his best mechanic being stolen away.

It was beneficial for Anakin, too. If nobody knew who he was, not even his boss, then the chances of someone recognizing him were even lower. So, he kept at it, the effects he had on the now-thriving town simply an added bonus. The local economy was flourishing because of him, which was purely accidental. 

It didn't matter to him how much happier the people were. If they benefited them, then so be it. If not, then that wasn't his problem. He was there only because he had nowhere else to be. 

The suns set and the shop closed. With a sigh, Anakin packed up his tools and began the trek back to the hotel, his feet carrying him there on instinct, though his mind had no destination. His thoughts were blank, far away, and muted under a blanket of gray. 

The streets weren't as busy now, but the few people still out made sure to keep out of his way. He was grateful. He knew some of them suspected him to be an ex-Jedi, though how they figured it out, he didn't know. 

Opening the door, he let the shadows bathe him, the desert sand following him in.

Undressing, he stared at his scars, at his missing limb, and at his scarred face. With a sigh, he flopped down into the bed and prepared himself for another long, torturous night.

* * *

_Your mother's dead_  
_She said, "Don't be afraid."_  
_Your mother's dead_  
_You're on your own_  
_She's in her bed_

* * *

He could still remember his first day back on Tatooine. It was a day just like any other, the planet still desolate and barren. Tatooine had remained the same, but he hadn't. He had limped to Mos Espa, mostly ignored by others. 

It was that day when he learned that his mother was gone, that she had been sold and then freed, and that she had gotten married. Watto had eyed him, bloody and beaten, and Anakin knew he had to get out of there or risk being enslaved again. He had already risked too much by visiting. 

Limping off, he made towards the spaceport but changed direction halfway there, instead hitching a ride on a ship heading towards some small backwater settlement he had never heard of before. There, he made the life he had now, not allowing himself time to grieve. He had lost everything. He had lost his home, his mother, his brother, his innocence, his arm, and his eye. 

At night, he dreamt of her face, her warm, loving arms as she embraced him, and he wondered how she was now. He hoped that somehow, she had found happiness. He couldn't bring himself to find her. She believed that he was off having the time of his life, protected and loved. Who was he to interrupt her happiness for his own selfish desires? He hoped that she never learned the truth and that she could live in her fantasy world forever.

He wished he could do the same.

* * *

_Everybody goes_  
_Leaving those who fall behind_  
_Everybody goes_  
_As far as they can_  
_They don't just care_

* * *

The days passed in a blur, the weeks turning to months, the months turning to years and yet nothing changed. He was 21, now, old enough to legally drink, though he had been doing so for a long time now. He was perfectly content (content wasn't the right word; apathetic, maybe?) to continue on his meaningless existence like this. He didn't care for the Galaxy outside of this tiny town he called his own. He cared not for the Clone Wars that now ravaged the Core worlds or the battles that claimed the lives of millions. He knew he should, that those lives had meaning and that they were precious, but he didn't. He was numb and apathetic. 

He didn't care that the war crept ever closer to him or that he could feel thousands of souls dying constantly, he didn't care that the Jedi were in trouble. Or, he didn't, until three Jedi Padawans crash-landed near his town, claiming to be the Padawans of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, and Plo Koon.

Then, everything changed.

* * *

_You're a wasted face_  
_You're a sad-eyed lie_  
_You're a holocaust_

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, cliff hanger, I know. BUT, there will be a third part to this series coming out that should hopefully answer any questions you may have. In the meantime, I recommend some of my other works!


End file.
